


Train Ride

by SithHappens



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: NSFW, Smut, breath play, feelsy smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SithHappens/pseuds/SithHappens
Summary: You and Ivar take the train back from your getaway





	Train Ride

It’s Ivar’s idea to take the train back home instead of flying.  The decision lengthens your getaway by nearly a full day and you have zero complaints about that.  Plus, it allows for you to have a private cabin in the sleeper car, quiet and cloistered off from the rest of the riders with room to stretch out as desired.  There are two berths in the cabin, an upper and lower cot, though neither seem big enough to fit one comfortably, let alone two. You know Ivar would sooner sleep on pillows and blankets on the floor than let the two of you be separated unnecessarily, as accustomed and needy to feel you beside him as you are for him.

 

Of course, the contraptions still have their uses.  Like now, as Ivar sits back on the makeshift couch of the lower cot while your hands grip the upper for leverage, bouncing on his hard cock as sweat glistens on both your bodies, the picturesque countryside rolling past your private window unnoticed.   Because what could possibly hold a candle to this? The pleasure that you take from this scourge of a man beneath you? There is no world outside the feel of his thrusting hips between your trembling thighs, the stretch of his cock, roughened hands possessive along your skin, the animal, obscene sound of his voice.

 

But it is that dark voice that breaks through the winding knot in your belly, those hands that grip tight to your hips and still them flush with his own.  “Slow, my love…”

 

Momentarily confused as you look down at him, you buck your hips again.  His grip only tightens and he clucks his tongue in admonishment. “Be still.”

 

You know too well this game he plays, waiting until you can both feel that taut string of pleasure in you ready to snap, only to draw you back from it.  He enjoys this power he has over you, sometimes insufferably smug at how you and your body react so easily, so willingly to his commands. And you cannot deny the thrill at pleasing him so well.  But it doesn’t stop the groan of frustration that hisses out through your teeth at this interruption. That is only cut off by his sure fingers wrapping around your throat.

 

The gesture sends a spark of heat shooting up your spine and leaves you pliant against his touch.  Despite the violence these calloused hands have dealt in their time, there is more comfort than any fear in you, more promise.  You trust him. You trust him with more than just the air in your lungs. You can’t recall exactly how or when, but know that it is there and he has never truly made you regret it.

 

Even now, his blue eyes blaze up at you in a mix of emotions, wicked and adoring and so incredibly Ivar that you feel your cheeks and chest flush hotter.  His thumb pets along the pulse of your throat as he fixes you with an arrogant little smirk. “I mean to enjoy the view…”

 

The hand anchored at your hip leaves off.  Smoothes its way along your skin and makes you melt for him even more.  His eyes follow the slow path, fingertips tracing along your ribcage, the curve of stomach below your navel..  All the sensitive spots of you he knows so well, that make your body hitch and tremble despite yourself. Cups a breast in his hand and uses his fingers to pluck and roll your nipple until you moan for him, lashes fluttering as you squirm your hips against his, cunt clenching greedily. But there is no reprimand this time.

 

“Such a needy thing,” he muses, voice husky as his eyes darken even further.  His tongue glides along his lips, hand moving to join the other at your throat.  “Fuck me, then. Make yourself come on my cock.”

 

Swallowing thick, you feel your throat bob against the warm expanse of his palms.  There is no room to nod your head in compliance. Instead, you wrap your hands around his wrists and start moving your hips once again.  The return of that sweet friction makes you keen, quickly regaining the pace you had before his teasing. And his heavy touch only helps you along, adding weight to every downstroke until your bodies slam viciously against each other.  The thick stretch of his cock hitting places deep inside you only he ever could or ever will. 

 

Soon, you’re a trembling mess for him all over again, your world narrowed down to your bodies jarred and jostled by each sharp thrust.  It’s good. It’s so good. But you need more. And Ivar seems to know it too. There is no attempt to stop your hand from reaching down between your legs, seeking out your slick and swollen clit with a jolt of pleasure coursing through you.  In fact, he helps in his own way and you’re left with a breathless mewl at the squeeze of his flexing fingers.

 

Blood rushes through your ears, punctuated only by the grunts of the man beneath you as he tightens his hold.  Your hips and fingers moving desperately with his, heart racing as breath becomes more and more difficult with each passing moment, that knot of pleasure growing more and more taut until all it once it unravels with a snap.  With a gush of fresh arousal around his cock and a strangled cry working its way from your slackened lips.

 

His iron grip loosens immediately, letting you gasp for air, glistening fingers scrabbling at his wrists once more.  Still, he holds you upright, cupping your jaw in rough palms as he thrusts into you with a snarl on his face, seeking his own release.  You’re all but limp in his grasp, limbs heavy from exertion, but you still roll your hips along his and give a pleasured mewl at the feel of him spilling hot inside you with a stuttered groan.

 

Only then does he allow you to slump down against his chest, hands still framing your face as he pulls you into a lazy, sloppy kiss, hot breath shared between you.  The two of you remain tangled this way for several long moments, letting your sweat-slick skin cool, your breath evening out, his hands skimming soothingly along your skin.  Paying special care to brush his lips along your tender throat. And you bask in it, smiling dreamily to yourself against his shoulder and enjoying the feel of how he slowly softens inside you.

 

“Always such a good girl for me,” Ivar murmurs at the hinge of your jaw, nuzzling slightly as his fingers trace up and down your spine.  

 

“I’d be just about anything for you,” you sigh, the exertion trying to overwhelm you.  Though not enough to keep you from nipping playfully at his ear.

 

He gives a thoughtful hum, resting his head back against the makeshift couch as if considering, a mischievous smirk tilting his lips.  “Being Mrs. Lothbrok will suffice.”

 

“Oh, really,” you chuckle, leaning back just enough to look him in the face.  Ivar raises his head again so your noses bump together gently. “Well, then it’s a good thing you married me a few days ago.”

 

His grin is cheeky and arrogant, well-pleased with himself, before he kisses you soundly, leaving you breathless all over again.


End file.
